


On Marriage

by MissTeaVee



Series: A Distinct Lack of Mandalorian Mystique [7]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mandos responding with bullshit to invasive questions is a sport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: Marriage and rituals therin.Totally how it happens. Yep.
Series: A Distinct Lack of Mandalorian Mystique [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602253
Comments: 45
Kudos: 302





	On Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so very sorry.

“No one but me’s drinking, is this an elaborate ruse to get me plastered, or are you just hanging out to flex on the local populace?”

“Can’t it be both?” purrs one of the Mandalorians, leaning in on his elbow. Cara snorts rudely at the exaggerated posture, absently swirling her drink in hand.

“Does your husband know you’re playing behind his back?”

“Nah, he doesn’t know anything,” Korm’rk answers cheerfully, said husband at his side letting out a snort of amusement at the horseplay.

“Yes, you’re very subtle,” says Satrina, folding his arms on the table. “And actually I will drink some damn thing if those servers stop being cowards.”

Cara chuckles, sipping her drink. She got here first, and the server was all too happy to approach the table then, but now with six Mandalorians in addition to herself seated here, the server is always looking the wrong way when Cara wants his attention.

“I’ll go get a drink from the bar,” Savii says, pushing up to her feet. “Anyone else want something?”

Hands raise lightly off the table to indicate everyone would enjoy a drink, and Savii nods, heading for the bar. Cara leans back, taking stock of the group.

Big Guy Vizsla is across from her, beside him is Ruusaan (Cara’s only just stopped mentally calling her ‘Rusty’ based on her name), then there’s Din on Cara’s right, idly wiping a little dirt off a vambrace. Savii’s empty chair is at Cara’s left side, and beside that are the medic and his hubby. 

Savii returns with a tray she must’ve swiped off a serving droid and sits down, passing out drinks, then with a flourish, pulling out garishly-colored straws. “This was all they had for going up under the helmet.”

“Oh that’s terrible, I love it,” Ruusaan reaches over to take one that somehow alternates between orange and pink depending on the way you look at it. “Must be intended for Kel Dor or something.”

“What makes you say that?” Cara asks conversationally.

“They have fancy markings in a different light spectrum,” Din answers, accepting a straw of his own. Cara makes a noise of understanding, realizing their helmets must pick that up. Neat.

She happily takes a gulp of her own drink, letting the Mandalorians enjoy their rare treat a moment. 

“Someday we’ll manage to brew some proper _Tihaar_ again,” Paz says, his glass settling down on the table. “And we’ll get to watch you gasp and wheeze at the spice.”

She chuckles at his words, shrugging absently. “You keep talking it up, makes me curious, you know. You sure it’s not just the nostalgia talking?”

“Nah, _Tihaar_ was-”

“Oh my god, they ARE Mandalorians!”

Cara can hear every other person at the table sigh in unison. She lifts both her brows and sips her beer. If it’s not people trying to recruit more bodies for their up and coming merc group, its busybodies who think they’re somehow immune to social niceties if they’re curious enough about a now semi-mythical culture. She hopes that people won’t be treating Alderaani like that in a decade or so, though she supposes her people have the advantage of not being extremely recognizable on sight.

The small cluster of some kind of ship’s crew- the matching uniforms are a hint -whisper-yell amongst themselves, the conversation amounting to ‘you ask!’ ‘No YOU ask!’

Oh boy.

Finally, a brave Togruta approaches the table, and Cara notices his eyes flicking at her.

“Hi! Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Rumbles Paz, bringing his glass up to the base of his helmet to presumably drink from the straw. To Cara’s surprise though, the Togruta points at her.

“Are you a Mandalorian too?”

“Uh- Do you see a bucket on my head?” She replies, dry as Tatooine. There’s a small scoff from someone at the table.

“Well a couple of my uh… friends were arguing about whether or not Mando women wear the armor. Raj said the culture’s really- uh, kinda sexist-”

On Cara’s left, Savii cracks, audibly coughing and sputtering as she laughs. Her high pitched giggles leave little doubt as to her sex. 

“That’s a new one,” comments Ruusaan, folding her arms on the table, the humor in her tone evident.

In fairness to the Togruta, he rubs the back of his head. “Well that answers that question. Sorry. My other workmate thought that maybe your ladies just didn’t wear the armor, you do look like a hell of a warrior, honestly-”

“She is,” Din interrupts, making Cara grin to herself. The Togruta flushes, clearly sensing the welcome’s worn out.

“Anyway I’ll leave you guys alone. Sorry.”

Korm’rk leans back in his seat, head turning to watch the Togruta go, chortling. Cara chuckles, lifting her drink to her lips.

“Not sure how to feel ‘bout that one. Do I scream ‘oppressed housewife’ to any of you?”

“Oh definitely, it’s the innocent doe eyes and modest clothing,” Korm’rk says, turning his helmet only slightly in her direction. Cara snorts at him, gesturing at him with her drink-hand in a mock ‘watch it’ motion. “At least it wasn’t about having sex this time.”

“Poor sod looked like his buddies bullied him into asking,” Satrina adds. “Probably new guy on the crew.”

“Ah, hazing, don’t miss that,” Cara groans dramatically, crossing her ankles idly. “What were you saying about Mandalorian booze?”

“Right, so _Tihaar_ was brewed with finely ground hot pepper seeds in the mix, done right and it would burn twice. First the alcohol, then the capsaicin,” Paz explains, lifting both hands. “You could get a sweeter version too.”

“Sounds awesome,” she says, curious despite herself.

“Mandalorian culture used to take it’s alcohol seriously,” Satrina remarks. “There’s a word of measurement that is specifically filling your helmet with ale.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Cara laughs.

“Buy’ce gal,” Din interjects at the same moment as Ruusaan and Korm’rk. Cara laughs even harder at the accidental synchronization. Damn, not a lie.

“Technically it means a gallon, but never once in my life have I heard it referred to anything other than booze,” adds Paz. Cara snickers at that.

“The parties must’ve been great.”

It raises a question about being unhelmeted, if you’re using it to carry booze, and how such parties happened. Cara’s heard reference to communal meals and soldiers sharing space on campaign and she gets the feeling that Mandalorians didn’t always have that helmet rule, but hell if she knows how to politely ask about that. So she doesn’t. Her comment sparks chuckles, in any case.

“Yeah, I bet they were,” Savii says, playing with her now empty glass. Cara notes that the tip of the sniper’s straw looks chewed on.

“Augh, another one of them’s coming over,” groans Satrina, though he’s not looking over his shoulder towards the ship’s crew. Cara mentally adds that to her list of evidence that at least some Mandalorians have some kind of rear view camera in their helmet. She turns her head slightly to see a human heading their way with a look of drunken determination.

Ruusaan says something in the Mandalorian tongue, earning mild snorts, and Cara wishes she could be in on the joke. Then the guy is leaning into the gap between Korm’rk and Satrina, clearly drunk and impulsive.

“Hey! Wanted to know something.”

“Do we look like Galactapedia to you?” Savii retorts, but the guy’s apparently too drunk to apply common sense.

“So if you Mandalorians got ladies, that mean you get Mandalorian babies too?”

“...”

No one answers, but Cara can sense that it’s more because the answer is _Duh_ than any other reason. Din loudly and deliberately drinks through his straw. Undeterred, the drunk continues his line of questioning.

“So if you can’t see how hot someone is, how d’you know you wanna marry them? I mean a dude wants to know his wife’s got the looks, right?”

“Wow. Okay,” Savii mutters, only heard by Cara because she’s right beside the sniper. “Prick.”

“Wellll,” Korm’rk turns to the guy, voice cheerful. It’s credit to how much time Cara’s spent around the Tribe that this makes a shiver run down her spine. “We don’t pick out our spouses, per se.”

“No? Then how ya do it?” The guy asks, oblivious. Cara catches Din’s slight shake of the head, but Korm’rk happily bulldozes on. Cara braces herself for oncoming bullshit.

“See, if a woman decides she wants to get married, she makes an announcement, and any man interested can eh... Compete for the position of her husband.”

“Oh,” The drunk mulls that over, apparently not hearing the hissed snickers from under at least one helmet. Cara shoots Savii a look. “So ya’ll fight for the gal?”

“Actually no, we’re a lot more romantic than that,” Korm’rk says brightly. “The first man to get her pregnant gets to marry her!”

“Wha- well, that’s uh-”

“Obviously it’s only fair if everyone gets to try at the same time,” The medic adds, his voice still cheerful and informative. Cara chokes on her drink. The Drunk looks unimpressed, even as his brain tries to make sense of the words.

And then there’s a long, regretful sigh from across the table, and Ruusaan speaks up. “Yes it is quite intense. It’s why I haven’t married yet, I’m just not ready for that yet.”

Cara only manages to conceal the fact that she’s loosing her shit by hiding in her elbow. By the quiet sputtering at her right and left, neither Din nor Savii were expecting that. The Drunk looks confused, staring over at Ruusaan, but she just idly swirls her straw in what’s left of her drink.

“I’m.. sorry?” the drunk finally says, as if unsure he should apologize for it. Ruusaan sighs again, longingly.

“I mean, it’s very fair, and it helps spread genes, but one can’t help but hope for a certain partner, can they?”

“Uh… no- yeah.. Uh. Thanks for telling me,” the drunk clearly doesn’t know what to do with this information, and the Mandalorians are a stoic crowd, though Cara’s too busy trying to contain her mad cackling to really pay them any mind.

There’s a suspicious high-pitched wheezing on her left though. Finally Cara manages to look up to see the Drunkard has left them alone, and Savii has both of her hands covering her visor, practically hyperventilating by the sound of things.

“I’m gon’ cry… why would you say that?”

“I’m getting a divorce,” Satrina announces to the table, voice cracking. 

Paz slowly leans over, his massive helmet thumping onto the table and he just puts an arm over the back of it, as if giving up on life. Din takes a deep breath, but giggles on the exhale, clearly fighting for dignity. Korm’rk just leans in on his elbow, directing delighted words at Ruusaan.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you!”

A chuckle out of the woman, and Ruusaan lifts the remains of her drink up to the rim of her helmet.

“Hey now, a girl needs to know a man can provide her with anything she wants, including children.”

Cara looses her shit for the second time in as many minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> I lied, I'm not sorry at ALL.
> 
> More tomfoolery for my most popular series. If you think the marriage questions will end, you're wrooong.


End file.
